Masks
by Estrella00
Summary: Gabriel's dying wish was for Marjane to become a dancer. But with scary superstitions, old grudges, and a mysterious masked man, how will Marjane survive? Classic story told through different eyes. Familiar faces in every chapter. Rated T just incase!
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

"_Marjane? Are you here?" Gabriel asked, his eyes darting back and forth, seeing nothing._

"_Yes." She took his hand._

"_The entailment is over. We are free. Now you can go, go to the opera, become a dancer."_

"_I'm not going without you Gabriel. I will not leave you here alone." Marjane's teeth were gritted._

"_You will get nowhere with a blind brother in tow, no, I will stay." His voice echoed the authoritative tones of their father, long dead of consumption._

_The silence permeated the room, and Marjane stared at the single candle, its shadows flickering on the wall._

"_Marjane, it is my last wish, please become all you wanted to be." He squeezed her hand._

_The tears pricked the back of her eyes. His breath was shuddering now. _

"_And Marjane? Write me, alright?"_

"_Yes Gabriel." She replied, but his eyes no longer moved, and she knew he didn't hear her._

Chapter 1

Marjane pulled the wool cloak tighter around her skinny figure; the sun was rising in the east, but the biting cold reminded all who strolled the Place de l'Opera that winter was fast approaching. She looked up, _Opera Populaire_, flashed in the sun. She followed the steady stream of horses to the back, where stables and doors more readily open to poor girls sat waiting. Dodging carts and unruly workers, Marjane arrived at the stage door, and took a deep breath, but her rumbling stomach interrupted and she pushed on in.

Inside, Marjane found, it was louder than the outside, a romp in madness. Men with overly powdered faces, and women in the skimpiest of outfits that would make even a prostitute blush. She let herself be swept into the crowd, landing herself outside an office marked _Monsieur Lefevre_. She quietly let herself in, ignoring the clutter, bundled posters from previous shows, some large animal trophy heads, and many cups of coffee, randomly scattered in places around the office, from neatly placed on the desk (still hot, she imagined) to on top of an armoire. After about ten minutes of politely waiting by the door, Marjane began to explore. Monsieur Lefevre had many knick-knacks, pictures of him with esteemed patrons, past stars of the opera, and notes, from someone named OG. Teeming with curiosity she picked one up and began to read:

_Most Esteemed Lefevre,_

_Congratulations on your most recent production of Les Contes d'Hoffman, it was a great success. However, I still urge you to make these remaining changes, please find a bassoonist with richer sound, and the dance sequence in Act 1 was lacking its normal energy, please request a rehearsal. I shall watch tonight's performance of Hannibal from my normal seat in Box 5._

_Your obedient friend-----_

Just then, a man stormed into the office, lanky and gray-haired, and in a terrible rage, followed by two other men, one squat and sweaty, the other, tall and statuesque,

"Can we get through _one_ goddamned rehearsal without set pieces falling, sopranos quitting, or ridiculous superstitions. I'm very sorry Monsieurs, what a terrible way to begin your—" He noticed me, "and who are you?"

Marjane curtsied, "My name in Marjane Deveraux, I would like to acquire a position here, doing anything really, I…I need work." He gave her a withering glare; "We need no help at this time—"

"But Monsieur!" She cut in,

"Do you need an escort out?" Lefevre's tone was one of serious anger, and Marjane pressed no further, slinking out in embarrassment, she closed her eyes, _I'm sorry Gabriel_, she apologized to her brother. She shut the door, Lefevre's shouts still audible. Then the tears came, the Opera Populaire had been her last chance. She could hear the faint strains of an overture, _another rehearsal,_ she guessed, ducking backstage in a tiny nook, where she could see them, but they couldn't see her. Someone touched her shoulder and she jumped, turning to beg and apologize she stopped dead in her tracks. The man before her was intimidating, tall and lean, his hair slicked back, and his most imposing feature, a white mask covering the left side of his face. But when he spoke, his gloved hand resting lovingly on her shoulder, it was with a warm, friendly voice,

"My child, please take this note to Monsieur Lefevre, I trust you to deliver its contents."

"But Monsieur I do not work her—"

"Just deliver the message." He took her hands pressing the sealed envelope into them. And then, disappeared.

Marjane ran back to the Lefevre's office, praying he had not left yet. He hadn't.

"Monsieur, I have—"

"I thought I told you to leave." He cut her off.

"But Monsieur, I have a note from one of your…employees." She held out the envelope sealed in wax. Lefevre's eyes flashed with fear and he snatched the letter away reading it quickly, his eyes becoming wider and wider.

"Girl." He cleared his throat and Marjane looked up, "It appears we have a position for you after all, you will begin laundry duty tomorrow. The maid's dormitory is third floor, seventh door on the right. Your wages will be paid every Wednesday, if you have any questions, ask Adele."

She stood wide-eyed, unnerved by her sudden good fortune.

"Thank you Monsieur, you won't be disappointed!" she curtsied and ran out, silently thanking the masked stranger who had saved her dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Marjane ran up the three flights of stairs, laughing raucously. She rounded the corner and knocked into the largest tower of clothes she'd ever seen, falling to the floor.

"I'm sorry!" Marjane jumped to her feet, piling the clothes in her arms.

The figure carrying the clothes stood, she was young, probably less than a year older than Marjane, and wildly exotic, bright blue eyes, and hair black as the ravens that had often flown through the French countryside.

"Who the hell are you?" she replied, beginning to gather the clothes too.

"Marjane, Marjane Deveraux. I'm the new laundress." She curtsied and the girl's eyes lit,

"Oh, yes. Lefevre sent up a message. I'm Adele." She stuck out her hand, callused, but still graceful. Marjane was surprised, when Lefevre had spoken of Adele, she had imagined an old crone, not this young girl.

"Sorry for the rude greeting, we've been understaffed all day. Care to help?" Adele offered and Marjane quickly took a share. They strolled down the stairs, careful not to hit anyone with their clothing towers,

"Would you like the long version, or the short version?" Adele asked, a smile playing across her lips.

"Excuse me?"

"The long version or the short version of how things are run around here?"

"Um, whichever is the most comprehensive, I guess." Marjane proceeded to walk straight into the path of two ballerinas, whom gave her a nasty look.

"Ok, rule one, don't piss off the ballerinas, they have…friends in high places."

"Uh-huh." Marjane's eyes were wide as they made their way into the washroom, throwing their loads into the wash vat.

"Rule two, you are a laundress, so act like a laundress, and lastly, beware of the—" Suddenly, Adele was hit from behind by a pair of dirty stockings. She turned around to find a boy sitting on the rafter, chuckling into his hand.

"Hey! Why don't you make yourself useful and help?" Adele yelled to the boy, who jumped from the rafter, and sliding down a pile of unwashed clothes, landed in a beautiful bow before Marjane,

"And who," he took her hand and kissed it," Do I have the honor of meeting?"

Marjane was too stunned by the boy's brashness to speak.

"Her name is Marjane Deveraux, she's the new laundress." Adele interjected.

"Well, well then," the boy smiled, bowing once again, "Jacques Crusoe, at your service," his eyes, a beautiful green, sparkled. Adele threw a neatly folded stack of clothes at him, which he adeptly caught before the trio departed.

***

After a hearty dinner of vegetable soup and bread crusts with the other servants in the apartments' dining room, Marjane returned to the girls' bedroom to set the few belongings she had brought with her on the small table next to her bed. A picture of Gabriel, smiling at the camera, a whittled figure of a tiny dancer, a third birthday present from her father, and a key, to what, Marjane did not know.

"Marjane?" a warm voice from deeper in the apartments called, and Marjane found Maude by her side. Maude was soft, middle-aged, and motherly. Her hair was black and piled high in a bun, her eyes, a dull brown. She had lost her two young children in a fire many years ago, and now, according to Adele, tried to be a mother to all at the Opera Populaire. Marjane liked her already.

"Darling, are you finished getting settled? Around now we normally enjoy each others company by telling stories, if you're not, we can hold it in the boys' dormitory tonight."

"Thank you, I'm fine." Maude smiled and called the others, who burst in noisily, happy to be done with the day's work. Among the bobbing heads, Jacques waved his arms, and came to sit by Marjane and Adele. A couple of the stagehands set up a small table and broke out the cards, while a few of the other maids settled into their laps, "Sluts." Adele muttered under her breath. Maude and a few others began to knit; using some of the younger workers as models, and in a corner sat Gabrielle, a peculiar girl who hid behind her glasses, reading, her face contorted as if something was going to jump on her, "She's kept on simply because she's Lefevre's love child." Even Patte, the large mutt everyone had adopted was curled near Maude's feet. Suddenly a tall, dirty man burst through the door, setting up a crate as an impromptu stage, and twirling a rope. "Joseph Buquet—quite a pleasant man, under the layers of drink and callus." Adele had referenced.

"Listen up!" Buquet called to the room, "Who wants to hear of my latest encounter with the—"

"Longest running joke at the Opera?" one of the stagehands heckled before lapsing into chuckles with his card mates. Buquet just shook his head,

"Well Guillame, how would you know? You've never seen him." Buquet began to skulk through the room," Eyes like sparkling onyx, fingers like white spiders, and face hidden by a white mask!" on this last part he bumped a maid, causing her to scream in fright, before the room burst out into laughter. Marjane puzzled, before turning to Adele," But that's the man who got me my job!" The entire room went quiet, and Buquet approached Marjane, "What did you say dear?" Marjane recounted the tale, when she was done; all eyes were staring straight at her. Buquet took her hands, "Stay away from him."

"But—" Marjane tried to protest.

"Stay away from him, he is dangerous."


End file.
